Not On Jack's Watch
by impossiblepluto
Summary: They're pretty sure this mission will have the same "we don't talk about..." rules attached to it. If they survive it. Post-season 3.


Mac's hand is warm in his. His grip strong and solid, belying the fact that he's crumbling on the inside. They both are.

Unquestioning loyalty between partners, created and maintained by years of promises, steady reassurances, and Jack's unwavering permanence in Mac's life. Until now.

If Jack could have known that his persistent desire for Mac to gain closure in his relationship with his absent father would lead them here, he would build the time machine, that Mac insists can't exist, himself, go back and slap his younger self for even bringing up the idea. Warn him what it will eventually cost him. But even now, standing in the war room about to say goodbye, he doesn't fully understand how thoroughly he and Mac have been manipulated.

He accepted the request to lead the task force voluntarily. There was an underlying implication that they wouldn't ask as nicely if he refused. His official discharge from the Army was murky. Caught up in red tape, and top secret CIA clearances and shady deals he made to get Mac out of Afghanistan in a hurry. On paper, it appears he wasn't actually discharged, just on loan to DXS and later the Phoenix. It never caused a problem, until now.

He was reminded Mac skills were still in high demand in Afghanistan, Iraq and a number of other unstable parts of the world. Wouldn't it be a shame if he were recalled, smart kid like him with so much potential.

Master manipulators, even with his extensive SERE training, it feels like it's Jack's idea by the time they're done with him. They convince him that any destruction, the thousands of lives Kovac will end with his rampage of terror, are on him. He took an oath to defend the United States and her interests, long before he made any other promises. The United States wants proof of his loyalty to her above anyone else.

Jack braces himself for the look of betrayal on Mac's face when he says he's leaving. And that Mac can't come with him. He thought he had prepared for the hurt in Mac's eyes. He was wrong. Mac asks him for an explanation, which Jack can't give him. He mumbles something about his duty to his country, to fix his mistakes, to save lives and Mac just lets it go.

It's a relief, not to need to lie to Mac. It hurts that after everything, Mac would believe Jack would just walk away from him. He thought he'd convinced the kid that there was nothing more important to him. Guess he didn't do a good enough job.

Jack had resolved to let Mac decide on their goodbye. He watched with eyes ever attuned to Mac's mood and mindset. After hugging Bozer and Riley he'd been primed and ready to hold onto his kids for a few solid minutes before heading to his transport, even if releasing Mac from that hug and walking away killed him.

But Mac extending his hand and keeping his body language distant, is what just about killed him instead.

All the words Jack never said and an apology for all the promises he's breaking, he has to try to convey all of that now, with only a handshake. It's not nearly enough.

"Just keep thinking, Butch. It's what you're good at," Jack clears his throat but the lump threatening to choke him remains. He squeezes Mac's hand tighter and tries not to break his resolve to follow Mac's lead.

Instead, his fingers start to loosen their grip and his hand slides from Mac's. Reluctantly. His steps are wooden as he heads for the door. Just a few weeks, he lies to himself. No need for some big grand goodbye because he won't be gone that long. Mac would have been embarrassed to lose control of his emotions here at the Phoenix with everyone around, only for Jack to be back a month later.

A month is still too long without his kid in his life, but he tells himself he'll be fine. They'll be fine.

He shoves aside the memories of how Kovacs eluded them for over a decade last time.

Jack pauses at the doorway. He almost says to hell with Kovacs and the mission, his family needs him. He almost rushes back to Mac's side to envelop him in a hug that will let the kid know that he's loved and not abandoned as he must be feeling.

He almost turns back for even one more handshake.

Instead, he shifts his duffel on his shoulder, tears burning his eyes and walks out the door.

Too stubborn to admit he's making one of the biggest mistakes of his life. And not hugging Mac is an even bigger mistake.

* * *

This mission might actually rival Cairo, and that's saying something, because every time Jack didn't tell the story over the years, he alluded to something new and worse. Beaten, and broken. Shot, and snakebitten, flayed and flambéed. Each injury worse and alliteration more groan inducing, but in all these years, no one has ever gotten Mac or Jack to spill the full story. Not Bozer when he created a feast of gastronomical delight, intent on filling them up, getting them drunk and getting them to talk. Not even when Riley hacks the Phoenix servers can she find a hint. It's like the entire Cairo mission has been scrubbed by someone exactly like her, who didn't want someone like her to find it.

Riley is pretty sure that this mission will have that same "we don't talk about..." rules attached to it. If they survive it.

Comms were lost early on, and that should have been a warning for the rest of the mission. They're totally on their own. Quickly running out of ideas, supplies and options.

No matter how many traps or explosion Mac builds; how many clips Desi empties, the baddies have stayed right on their tail. It's night time now. The clouds block out the moon's glow, but it's too little, too late to give them an advantage. And they're too broken to even attempt to use it.  
They hole up in an abandoned warehouse, but it's just delaying the inevitable. They aren't escaping this. Riley's leg is broken. Mac splinted it as best he could, but supplies are limited. She's determined not to slow them down, half stumbling, half carried between Desi and Bozer. Biting back cries of pain as the motion jars her leg.

Desi's hit. Multiple hits. And is bleeding faster than they can reinforce the bandages. Not that they have anything left to use. Mac tore the upholstery out of the last car they stole. The stuffing worked for a while, but it's not enough.

Bozer's eyes are unfocused, blood flows from a blow to his head. He squints in the darkness. The ground beneath his feet dips and spins. His gait's unsteady and he keeps apologizing to Riley when she cries out.

The right side of Mac's chest nearly crushed, and he can barely draw breath. He's pressing forward on adrenaline alone but that is quickly failing him. He keeps wasting those shaky, shallow breaths on apologies and self-recriminations for not being enough. Not saving his team. Riley tries to reassure him, but he's lost in his head. Lost in his pain.

Riley bites back another cry of pain as she collapses against the back wall of the warehouse, after following the maze of shipping containers as far as they go. This is the end of the line. Bozer sinks to the ground on her left.

Desi helps Mac lower himself to sit on the other side of Riley. His arm splinting his ribs. Each breath feels like shards of glass shifting in his chest; grating against his lungs. His breathing too fast and too shallow. A gurgle and weak cough and there's blood on the corner of his mouth.

Desi wearily drops next to Mac. Holding her arm against the jarring motion. She checks her gun, two bullets. Exactly what she thought, but hoped that maybe she'd lost track somehow and miscounted in their favor.

This is it. Their last stand, and not one of them is in any condition to be standing.

Mac's breath rattles, a sickly wet sound. The clouds part and the moon shines through the window above their heads.

Riley reached out, taking Bozer's hand in hers, squeezing tight and holding on. She catches Mac's hand next, makes eye contact with him in the dim light. She can't help the tears that glisten. There's so much she wants to say, so much she wishes she had taken the time to tell each one of her teammates. Now words seem inadequate.

Slowly, Mac slides his right hand from where it braces broken ribs, towards Desi, palm up. She hesitates for a moment, looking up at the man, the team she promised to protect but never dreamed of getting attached to. Then slips her smaller, gun calloused hand into his.

The thwap of a helicopter comes closer. Shouting as the warehouse is breached. Lights flashing up and down the aisles of shipping containers.

Desi tightens her grip on Mac's hand while aiming towards the corridor. She's taking at least two more of them out with her.

The voices are getting louder. A blinding light flashes onto the small family. Riley flinches against the light, closing her eyes as she waits for the kill shots to come. Squeezing the hands of her brothers on either side.

"Man, I can't leave any of you alone for a minute, can I?"

* * *

Whenever the mission allows, Jack finds himself adjusting his sleep schedule to Pacific Standard Time. Such a small action, a small defiance, but it makes Jack feel closer to home.

Most of their raids takes place during the midnight hours of whatever country they're currently in. Usually, that makes it midday in California.

His new team doesn't complain if he wants to take the graveyard shift of surveillance hours and sleep during the day. They're more than willing to let him have his way. He is team lead after all, and night shift is never a favorite for anyone. The night watch often used as a disciplinary action in the army. Jack would know.

Jack has always felt more at home working grave.

It's symbolic. A gesture that only he really understands. His contact with his family is limited. Mostly emails, some video messages and only at certain times, in certain countries for security reasons. It's a slow, delayed method to communicate and keeps him isolated from them. The limited interaction makes it hard to tell his family how much he misses them and when he's thinking of them, or even just keeping up on the week to week activities of their lives. He can only watch these snippets of his team's lives.

Every once in a while, not nearly often enough, when he's very lucky, he gets a pre-arranged skype call. He hoards those moments when he gets to interact with his team in real time. They are too short, too infrequent and almost too difficult. The anticipation leading up to one of those calls keeps his heart racing for a week before. There will be plenty of eye rolls, sarcastic comments, and Jack will say something to coax one of those special smiles from Mac and just for a moment he's back on Mac's porch with a bottle of beer in one hand and a bottle of hot sauce in the other. For just a moment he's part of their lives, not stuck watching from a distance.

The heartbreak of logging off at the end is almost beyond what he can bear. As their time limit ticks down it feels like he's going to walk away from them again. But he'll keep torturing himself with those calls if it means that even for a few minutes he can see his family.

The mission stretches on, the exact way he tried not to let himself fear it would. Never ending. Two steps forward and some days it feels like three steps back. He's never going to get home. It's wearing on him. Crushing his spirit. He asked about a discharge, being cut from the mission and getting sent home. Hasn't he given, sacrificed enough.

He's trying not to be paranoid but the response he gets sounds a whole lot like what he'd expect to hear from someone in some sort of oversight position of some clandestine government agency that wanted Jack out of his hair. One that wanted Jack far away from his son.

Just before dawn, he hands over the watch. All quiet on the listening post. Dragging his exhausted body towards his bunk. He pulls off his boots, strips down to his skivvies and falls, exhausted into bed. Hoping that tonight... this morning, sleep won't be elusive.

He blames it on the fact that the curtain isn't snug against the window and a beam of light creeps across the wall as the sun rises. Its trajectory will put it directly in his eyes soon. He should just get up and secure the drapes, instead of glaring at the traveling beam of light like he's done for the last hour. But that takes so much more effort than a glare.

His mind strays to his team. They're usually on the deck when he envisions them. Safe and sound, not even a bruise between them. Bozer's fed them, and Mac is explaining a scientific theory that only he understands. The beer is cold, and conversation flows into the night. Except that there's a thought tickling the back of his mind that something isn't right.

It's not like he's going to sleep anyway. His emotions bubble too close to the surface right now. Anger. Regret. And a piercing sense of loss. Overtired. Discouraged.

He reaches for his shirt, draped over the desk chair next to his bed and pulls a small notebook and pencil out of the pocket. He scratches another tally mark into the inside cover. Another day away from his family. He's going to need a new notebook soon.

He dashes a hand across his eyes and flops back against the pillow.

There's a single sharp buzz. It takes his tired mind a minute to place the noise. Then he leaps from his bed and scrambles for his go-bag and the hidden pocket inside the lining.

His hands shake as he pulls out the small device, remembers Matty pressing it into his hands the night before he left. Right after she tried to convince him it was a mistake to go. That he can do so much more good by staying with the Phoenix. That they need him. That Mac-

He stopped her before she could finish that sentence.

Matty grasped his hand, pressing the small pager-like device into his palm and curling his fingers around it.

Jack raised an eyebrow as he examined it.

"In case you need us. In case we need you," she explained simply.

"You got me 'a Captain Marvel we need you to come back and save the world' pager?" Jack asked with reverence in his voice and maybe a tear in his eye. "Matty, I'm touched."

"Maybe in the head, if you think that you're Captain Marvel in this scenario."

"The beacon is lit? Gondor calls for aid?" Jack tried another movie.

"No," she scowled at him, rolling her eyes.

"Fine, don't like that one either? How about we call it a bat-signal? No, wait, a Jack signal! Can it be a wolf?"

Matty let out a small huff but couldn't disguise the affection on her voice. "I am going to miss you."

"Aw, Matty. You going soft on me? Trying to make me cry?"

In the last sixteen months, Matty used the communicator only once, letting him know the first time Mac was injured while he was gone. He called in a lot of favors, got in a lot of trouble to make it back in time to see Mac as he was coming out of anesthesia. He's still paying off that debt his actions incurred, but he would do it again in an instant.

He didn't think Matty knew exactly how much it cost him to get back, both in favors and the emotional toll of leaving again, but she must have an inkling because she didn't use the communicator again after that.

He knows that little comfort cost her a lot of leverage too.

He's well aware that Mac's been in trouble since that first time. That he's been injured multiple times in the last year, but Matty doesn't let Jack know about those incidents. Collectively, whether a conscious choice or because deep down they're all self-sacrificing idiots, they don't tell Jack about the missions that nearly go wrong. They don't know quite how he'll respond if they let him see the damage. Might make him do something stupid.

Still, Jack notices fading bruising on Mac's face in video messages, unsuccessfully hidden from Jack's observational skills, despite Bozer's handiwork with stage makeup and lighting. It's his job to notice when Mac's hurting.

Jack can only watch as Mac's smiles grow dim with fatigue and burnout. It shatters his already chipped and cracked heart to see Mac that way. Caring for Mac's wellbeing was always more than just a job.

If Matty's using the communicator now, it's bad.

It's Cairo bad.

Jack doesn't care what it takes. Doesn't care what it costs him. Personally or professionally. His life. His freedom. If Matty thought she needed him, if she took the risk to summon him, he's going.

It doesn't take long to pack. He doesn't have much. His worldly possessions crammed into a go-bag that's never really been unpacked. He slings his bag over his shoulder, and pauses at the door.

His task force is awake.

Of course, they're awake, they keep to a normal schedule. It's midmorning now. No sneaking out of the compound in the middle of the night. He's going to have to walk right past them.

He doesn't think they'll try to stop him, but he doesn't know how they'll respond. They function well as a unit, but he doesn't really know any of them, even after all this time.

It's like being back in Afghanistan in the months after Delta and before meeting Mac. Surrounded by fellow soldiers, tasked with keeping each other safe. Working side by side but not making friends. It's been too easy to slip back into the darkness that permeated him during those in between months. It makes him difficult to be around. Very few people were ever able to look past that and see him. Except Mac.

He didn't think they'd try to stop him.

Maybe they'd report him to their superiors.

If he was lucky, they might let him go. Claim he sneaked off in the night, and let him get a few hours head start.

What he never expected was to learn that he inspired enough loyalty that they would listen to his story and follow him. Plan an off book mission to rescue his kids.

* * *

Panic plays with the fraying edges of his mind. He's wound too tightly. If he's not careful he's going to snap.

Tracking Mac isn't difficult for Jack. He's more than familiar with the way the kid's brain works, even if he doesn't understand what Mac's doing most of the time. As they follow the trail of downed bad guys, and burned out shells of cars, Jack can read the increasing desperation in the risks Mac is taking.

Mac's creations go from elaborate and sophisticated feats of science, to shaky, slap-dash builds that he's probably lucky didn't blow up in his face. Jack worries about what that means for the state he's going to find his family.

Because he is going to find his family.

And then he's never going to leave.

Matty contacted Jack three days ago. The team's been MIA for five.

He gets just enough information from her for a starting point. Her hands are tied. Bureaucracy. He can hear the stress in her voice. Anger. Fatigue.

He hates that he can hear fear. He doesn't think, in all the years he's known her, he's ever heard fear.

She can't contact him again. Not until it's over.

He's half surprised there isn't a task force tracking his task force. Maybe they want to see how far Jack's willing to go. Give him enough rope to hang himself.

It doesn't matter what happens to him, as long as the team is found and they're safe.

He's getting close.

There's no real sign that they're closing in on Mac's location, just a feeling in Jack's gut.

_You sure it's an extrasensory feeling, or is it just your eighth cup of stale coffee today?_

"No, it's definitely my Mac-sense tingling."

_Definitely not because you haven't eaten or slept in three days right?_

"You're a hypocrite, hoss, callin' me on that when I've watched you do the same thing."

Mind-Mac is silent.

"Ha, no comeback for that one, huh?"

_I am a figment of your imagination. You would have to come up with the comeback. Obviously, you recognize that you can't. Not one that reaches my level of genius._

"Well, someone is sure proud of his big brain."

_You're still putting the words in my mouth, Jack._

Jack scowls, eyes his lukewarm, bitter cup of coffee and down the whole thing. It churns in his gut.

_Wow, you sure showed me._

"Dalton," Jack is saved from a continuation of an argument, that should probably concern him with how seriously he's taking it. "I think we got 'em."

Jack sends a mental smirk to his snarky mind-Mac.

* * *

The warehouse is a killbox. It has to be complete desperation that drives them in there. He doesn't know if the satellite imagery they call up is lagging or if his team is really stuttering and lurching as they enter the warehouse. He has a bad feeling it's the latter.

As much as it pains him, he's not first through the door. Too emotionally compromised, but also giving up the responsibility of clearing the building so he can focus on finding his team.

There's a blood trail. Mac, Desi, neither would ever be that sloppy. Not if they were in a state to prevent it.

His TAC light falls on the bloodied, broken bodies of his team, huddled together, offering each other the only thing they have left at this point, comfort. The reassurance that none of them are going to die alone.

"Man, I can't leave any of you alone for a minute, can I?" Jack grouses and teases because if he doesn't he's going to fall apart at the sight of them, and the blood and he can't do that right now. His team needs him.

He pushes his assault rifle to hang against his back, freeing his hands to touch, to assess his hurting team. His family.

Jack kneels beside Mac. The kid's eyes are foggy with pain. When he smiles his teeth are painted with blood. Jack's not sure yet where it's from.

"Are- are you- here?" Mac chokes and coughs on the words, squinting into the light.

"I'm here," Jack whispers, his left hand cupping Mac's cheek, while his right searches for Mac's pulse. It's racing.

Mac takes another jolting, staggering breath between gasps of pain. "You came."

"Course I did. Somebody has to save your skins."

The soft stifled laugh dissolves into a congested wet cough.

It takes everything in Jack not to wrap his arms around Mac and hold on tight, trying to sooth the hurt, physical and emotional, he sees in his partner's eyes and listing posture.

He pulls his right hand from Mac's pulse point, reaching out for Riley. His left hand doesn't leave Mac's face.

"I'm fine," Riley promises, resting her face in Jack's hand, accepting comfort as it caresses her cheek, but not wanting to let go of Bozer or Mac's hands. "I am, I promise. Broken leg. Bozer's got a concussion. Bad one, but we're fine. It's Mac and Desi," her voice cracks. "It's bad."

A commotion behind him, the warehouse cleared by the rest of his task force and the medics finally allowed to enter and provide aid. They rumble through the shipping container corridors. Jack is forced to step back as they descend on his family.

Mac's eyes widen when the warmth of Jack's hand disappears. He leans forward, searching, crying out in pain and panic. "Jack!"

"Shhh, hoss. They're gonna take a look at you. Try to see where you're hurtin'," his voice thick with emotion and Texas.

Mac shakes his head, pulling his hands free from Desi and Riley to push at the medic who kneels in front of him. "Jack- don't," he labors.

Jack squats down again, claiming Mac's wild eyes with a pat on his cheek, and a hand on his shoulder. "Buddy," his voice cracks. "I think you've got something broken inside. You gotta let 'em look. You need them more'n me."

"Need- need you."

"You got me, hoss. Always," Jack's voice strangled. "Now hush up, and let them check you over. Don't be difficult."

Once Mac quiets, and nods his consent, Jack steps back again, only able to watch. He can't look away.

Quick assessments of broken bodies. Vital signs obtained, a barrage of numbers and diagnoses that Jack can't keep track of fly back and forth between the medics.

Bozer flinches away from the flash of a bright penlight in blown pupils.

After checking the pulse points in Riley's foot and ankle, assessing color, temperature and circulation, they leave Mac's splint in place. It's doing the job. It will keep until she gets x-rays and an orthopedic surgeon.

Pressure dressings to Desi's shoulder. They strap her arm tight against her chest. Her other hand caught Mac's again, holds on as they examine him.

Despite the need for their own medical care, each member of Team Improvise is thoroughly distracted with concern for their fearless leader.

Mac is struggling. His breathing shallow and a gurgled cough sends a fresh spattering of blood across otherwise bloodless lips.

Jack scrubs a hand across his scruffy, untrimmed beard. Then pushes back his hair, longer than he's worn in a while. Exhausted eyes burn and his vision blurs with unshed tears. He can't stop staring at his team. The regret over his mistakes, the ache in his chest at how close he came to losing them forever. He pulls out his Jack-signal communicator. Flicks on the switch and it buzzes prepared to send his message.

"Matty, I got 'em."

* * *

They slip an oxygen mask over Mac's face before they move to transport him. His respirations too weak, too fast, too shallow. His oxygen saturation dips and even by flashlight Jack can see that his nails are turning blue.

Jack imagines that Mac's lips are too, but he can't tell under the blood that coats them.

The gurney is positioned with Mac sitting nearly upright to ease his breathing and keep him from choking on his own blood.

Mac doesn't like the mask against his face.

Once settled in the ambulance, Jack grasps both of Mac's hands in his, keeping him from tugging at the lines in his disoriented state. Mac's fingers splay then clench into tight fists as Jack murmurs comforting words that he hopes pierce through Mac's confusion and help to calm him.

In the harsh light of the ambulance Mac looks even worse. Shadows previously disguised the streaks of blood across almost translucent cheeks. Bruising around his neck, down his chest, disappearing under his button-down shirt, no longer hidden by the darkness. Jack can't take his eyes from it.

Mac pulls restlessly against Jack's hands. He throws his head back, arching against the restraints holding him to the gurney.

He's choking. Coughing. A spray of blood coats the inside of the oxygen mask and the medic pushes Jack out of the way, into the corner of the bus.

Jack can only watch. His own breath comes in gasps, as though he is feeling Mac's pain and distress. He's panting with panic and silent prayer to spare his boy.

He didn't come to rescue his team, didn't risk everything to be too late and lose Mac like this.

Not on Jack Dalton's watch.

The emergency department's on standby, waiting for them and the chaos they bring when they roll in. Despite the clamor and the appearance of disarray, there is a steady order, and an almost tranquil arrangement and division of tasks that comes from years of working as a practiced team.

Jack stays out of the way. Mac needs this team of nurses and doctors more than he needs Jack right now, despite how much Jack needs him.

His back pressed against the far wall. It's holding him up, supporting his suddenly weak legs as his strength is sapped. Most of Mac's body hidden from view, surrounded as they try to save his life. Just a sliver of skin on his left side and every once in a while Jack sees Mac's fingers as they restlessly grip the cot, or reach out searching for something. Or for someone.

Jack's been gone for so long though. Those fingers probably aren't searching for his anymore. Even as his own ache to reach out and hold those warm fingers in his. Wishes all those months ago he'd never let go of that hand.

His reverie is broken as the monitors in the room wail.

The facade of calm from moments ago shatters into frantic pandemonium, that feels more familiar to an emergency department.

They're going to intubate.

Take him to surgery.

Now.

STAT.

The world fades to only the rush buzzing through his ears, and Mac.

Jack steps forward, hands finally closing around Mac's long, twitching fingers. Mac's eyes at half-mast, glazed with pain, hazy with hypoxia.

Mac's mouth opens and closes under the oxygen mask, trying to speak.

"I'm right here, hoss. I'll be here when you wake up," Jack promises. A promise he's made to Mac a thousand times before, that he'll stay. That nothing will ever make him leave. The only promise he's ever broken to Mac. Broke it every day for over a year. The only promise in his life that ever really mattered.

He hopes, this time, he's not a liar. That this time, it's one he can keep.

Mac's fingers slide out of his as they pull the gurney from the room. Jack can only watch as those fingers scramble against his own, trying to hold on. He has to let go. For Mac's own good, Jack has to let go of his hand.

* * *

Riley won herself an open reduction of her fracture. She's heading to an adjoining surgical suite. Desi to a third to remove the bullets lodged in her shoulder and upper chest.

Bozer dozes between neuro checks for his grade 3 concussion. While Jack sits next to him. Elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. The TV plays quietly in the background but Jack ignores it, eyes focused on the crack in the tile near the baseboards.

The privacy curtain pulled across the doorway rustles.

Jack doesn't move.

"You should go," Matty says quietly.

"Not leaving. Not again. I promised."

"I don't know if I'm going to be able to fix this."

Jack can hear the regret in her voice. He doesn't respond.

"You're essentially AWOL. They want to make an example out of you."

"Who's leading that charge?"

"I don't have too many favors to trade right now. Not when my own organization is after your head. It's only a matter of time before they come for you."

"Let them come."

"Jack," Matty's voice sharp. "This is my fault. If I hadn't called-"

He meets her gaze. "If you hadn't called they'd be dead. Then I'd be AWOL and wanted for murder. I knew exactly what I was doing when I went after them. They want me to answer for that? Fine. Let them come."

"It was never supposed to go like this."

"What? Manipulating Mac his whole life? Getting me called up on a snipe hunt to further mess with Mac's head?" Jack blows a harsh breath out through his nose. "Whatever happens to me, Matty, get Mac out. I know James saved your life and you feel like you owe him, but you have to see what he's doing."

"He manipulated me too," Matty admits. "He declared the team a lost cause. And I immediately called you."

"And he knew I'd come. I was making too much of a stink about getting sent home, so he decided to take care of that. I go AWOL, he makes an example out of me."

"I played into his hands."

"We all did. If I had known what getting Mac started on his search for his dad would do..." Jack shakes his head. "It's like Pandora's jewelry box." He half glances around, as if looking for Mac to correct him.

Matty leans forward, opening her arm. Jack accepts the hug from an old friend. "Keep him safe for me."

"I will."

"If he's not out of surgery before they come, and you can do it without risking anyone, can you let me know that he's recovering?"

"I'll do what I can to slow them down."

* * *

He keeps watch. A silent sentry.

Death doesn't dare come today.

Not while Jack stands guard over his boy.

He doesn't leave his seat next to Mac. His hand wrapped around the kid's wrist. Mac's steady heartbeat pulses under his fingertips. Mac's fingers loosely grip his.

He talks. He talks about everything. A constant, stream of consciousness monologue. He needs Mac to hear him. To know that he stayed. That he stayed as long as they let him.

He keeps his eyes on Mac with an ear tuned to the door, waiting for the moment a task force assembled to hunt him down arrives to pull him away in shackles. He wants so badly to see those blue eyes open before he goes. To know that his boy survives this. Make sure that there's no lasting damage to the healing, still broken body in front of him.

He's not going to get his wish. It'll be a few days before they reduce the sedation. A few days before they extubate him. And then so many tests to determine the extent of the damage and help predict his recovery. He knows even Matty won't be able to hold them off that long.

It's for the best. He doesn't want Mac to watch him led away in chains. That's the last thing the kid needs right now. Mac needs to focus on healing, not worrying about the fate of a partner that abandoned him.

They won't need chains. He'll go quietly. Meekly even. Give himself up the moment they come for him. But Jack is pretty damn sure that Oversight will make sure they cuff him. Probably strict orders for shackles and a briefing that talks about how dangerous he is.

He wonders what story they'll tell Mac to explain his disappearance.

"Even if I'm gone, you know, you're welcome at the ranch. I think this is the year the Stokes' side will all be there for the 4th. Since you'll still be on medical leave that'll guarantee you an actual bed instead of sleeping bag. And take the bed, hoss. I don't want to hear later that you camped out in the hayloft or something."

"I'm sorry I abandoned you," Jack continues. Variations of a theme that Jack's been telling Mac since he got out of surgery late last night. Jack hasn't slept. Doesn't matter. It's not like he'll have much else to distract him in prison. "If I could do it all over again, I never would have left." Jack blinks hard. "I remember you telling me that patients can still hear what's going on when they're unconscious. I just hope some of this sticks in your noggin' and you remember how much I love you."

Maybe if he keeps saying it now it'll make up for all the times he didn't say it in the past. Make up for all the chances he's lost to say it in the future.

Jack sighs. "You know, in all the scenarios I imagined for how this would go down, I never thought you'd do the dirty work yourself."

James crosses the room, stopping at the foot of Mac's bed. He takes a minute to read the monitors that hang overhead. He turns to Jack. "Hope it was worth it."

"It is." Jack's voice is decisive. It causes James to flinch. Jack takes a lot of pleasure in that. Whatever blacksite they ship him off to, he'll always have the fact that he caused the great James MacGyver to flinch.

"Despite your... missteps, that span your whole career, you have done good work. It's a shame."

"So is the kill squad waiting outside? You claim I made a run for it and gun me down, or how does this work?"

Anger flashes in James' eyes. "I am not the monster you try to pretend I am to justify turning my son against me."

"I think you did that one on your own, when you abandoned him."

"You think you know me? You think you can understand the choices I've had to make?"

"Yeah, I think I do."

"You can't possibly understand this Dalton. I had to leave. His one life versus millions. You've never had to make a choice like that."

"I do. I have. I chose him."

James freezes.

"About a year ago, I made the same mistake that you did. I thought I had to give up Mac in order to save thousands of innocents that Kovacs would kill. But it doesn't really work that way. There's always going to be another terrorist. Another maniac with a bomb. But I can't take responsibility for their actions, only my own. Last year I made a mistake. Mac for Kovacs. This time around I got it right. My life for Mac's."

The door opens, four TAC operatives that he doesn't recognize enter the room, armed for bear. Like they expect him to lash out and attempt to escape out a seventh floor window.

"I should have known you'd have some simplistic idealized version of how the world works," James scoffs.

Jack shakes his head, rising from his chair.

He has to let go of Mac's hand. He did what he set out to do, what has always been his priority, he saved his family. He squeezes unresponsive fingers, and raises his arms in surrender, ready to walk away again.

This time though, he pauses. He does what he should have done when he left a year ago. He runs a hand through Mac's hair, brushing a kiss to Mac's temple. "I just know what's important."

* * *

It hurt to breathe. It hurts to... everything. Swallow. Turn his head. He can blink mostly pain free.

Medical personnel are in and out constantly, checking his vital signs, listening to his heart and lungs, asking him questions to determine his cognitive status. Answering some of his questions, it's been a week since he was brought in, but not the most important questions. Where is his team? Where is Jack?

Sequestered. Security purposes. They're safe. Healing. Worried about him.

But no one mentions Jack.

The guards on his door act like they don't know who he's talking about. And since Mac doesn't recognize these TAC guys, which is because he's pretty sure they're new, not because of a head injury, a hypoxic brain injury, there's no reason they would know who Jack is.

Jack's been gone a long time.

It makes him wonder if the comfort he found while drowning in blood at the scene, in the ambulance, in his emergency room was a hallucination.

He can't imagine a scenario in which Jack came for him and then left before he woke up, without even a word to him, not even a note.

He doesn't even think a viable lead on Kovac would make him leave. But that was the Jack he knew before. The one that despite Mac's self-doubts, never doubted Jack. Never believed that Jack would leave. But then he did. And Jack's been gone a really long time.

He submits to their assessments. Eats what's put in front of him. Works with physical therapy and participates in his plan of care.

He keeps asking for his team. Sequestered. Safe. Healing. Buzz words. Meant to reassure him, and put him off. A warning to leave it alone and not press for more answers.

It's a week after he wakes up that they let him see Riley.

She hobbles in on crutches, only partial weigh-bearing on her injured leg.

"Mac!" she sounds elated to see him sitting up, breathing under his own power. He blushes as her eyes scan him, taking in his injuries. He knows how pale and drawn he looks. Doesn't really want her to worry about him, but he finds comfort in her familiar gaze, her concern for his health. They've been close from the day they met, but this last year, grieving the loss of a parent together, forged an unshakeable bond. Seeing her up and moving warms him, bolsters his flagging strength.

Her next words stop him cold.

"Where's Jack?"

* * *

Jack grunts, arms shaking from exertion. There's not much to pass the time. Push-ups and crunches. Wall sits, the added benefit of warming his chilled blood. Scratching words into the frigid concrete blocks of his cell. The block next to where his head rests at night is filled with tallys marking the days since he last saw his family.

And in a crevice that he carved into the wall, just below the mattress of his bunk, three paperclips that he hordes with a possessive jealousy. Even in the months he was away, he never got over keeping a few in his pockets just in case. A way to remind himself of his ultimate mission. Another way to hold his family, to hold Mac close, that no one would understand. He doesn't know how he managed to hold onto them in this prison. Palmed them while they searched him, stripped him of everything else, his tags, his ring. So intent on combing through his hair and beard, searching his mouth and other orifices to find contraband and they let him walk through the door with that twisted metal grasped in his hand. The extent of his worldly possessions. They keep him going. A reminder of what matters.

He blinks in confusion as the door to his cell buzzes and then opens.

They rarely open the door. Passing meal trays through a slot in the wall, and an hour a week in the yard. It's cruel and unusual, but he's been branded a threat and a flight risk.

Solitary confinement on a blacksite somewhere so far north the days are about six hours long.

He doesn't really need to count his makeshift calendar to know how long he's been here. Twelve groups of five tallys each. One more mark to finish off the thirteenth grouping. He is well aware of exactly how long it's been since he was escorted from Mac's hospital room. Wrists and ankles shackled.

As he was led from the hospital room, James called after him. "It's a shame that he'll never know what happened to you."

It's the only time Jack struggled. It earned him two blows to his right kidney that had him pissing blood for a week.

A hood was pulled over his head when they reached the car. From there a plane and another car ride.

Hours with his hands and feet confined and head covered, marched between four armed men. He should be flattered they considered him that much of a risk, even though he told them he'd go peacefully. Didn't fight. Didn't run. Just sat waiting for them to come for him.

His beard unkempt and his hair is longer than he's ever worn it. His hair probably rivals Mac's shaggy mop.

His heart clenches when he thinks of Mac.

He's had no contact with the outside world since the day he was led from Mac's bedside. He doesn't know what happened to Mac afterward. How much longer it took for him to wake up from his drug induced sleep. If James was true to his word, and never revealed to him what happened to Jack. His partner just disappeared into the night.

"Dalton!" The guard barks gun trained on him. "Arms up."

Jack slowly rises from the floor, holding his arms away from his sides. He must be moving too slowly because two more guards rush the room, jerking him to his feet. His face slammed against the block wall as the cuff him.

No hood this time. Small mercies.

He's marched through the corridors. He's never been in this part of the complex before. A series of locked doors and hallways. Until he's shoved into what looks like a small interrogation room, slammed into a chair and his hands secured to the metal table in front of him.

He doesn't know what they want.

Any intel he had is months old. Ancient in covert ops years.

A small, earworm of a fear nestles into his brain whispering to him that Mac is dead, and someone, James, maybe Matty is coming to tell him this was all for nothing. He can survive this place if he knows Mac is out there somewhere, alive. Safe. Even if the idea of never being there for him makes Jack die a little inside.

He doesn't know what he'll do if they tell him Mac is dead.

His hands yank the chains holding him in place. His back is towards the door and every instinct in him is screaming that this is wrong.

He doesn't know how long he sits. Long enough that his racing heart had calmed, and he is mostly able to ignore the taunts of the earworm.

It takes everything in him not to strain against the cuffs and turn towards the door when it opens. He's not going to give anyone the satisfaction of watching him squirm. Let them walk around the table to see his face.

There's a sharp intake of breath behind him.

He doesn't know why he would think it sounds familiar but...

"Jack."

He forgets that promise to himself from a moment ago, struggling against the chains, nearly dislocating his shoulders in an attempt to turn around. Because, please, please, that voice... his name...

Mac is at Jack's side in an instant, the movement shaky, and painful, but he let that doesn't stop him. His hands covering Jack's. A moment later the cuffs fall away.

Jack stands, the metal chair flung backwards and crashes to the floor in his haste. His hands grasp Mac's shoulders, staring into Mac's exhausted, too thin face. Deep purple crescent bruises under his eyes. A face he thought he'd never see again. "Am I gonna hurt you if I hug you?" His voice is raspy from disuse.

Mac shakes his head not trusting his voice. Jack wraps himself around Mac's skinny, trembling shoulders and holds on. It's been so long since he's gotten to hold his boy. His hand smooths through blond hair, cupping the back on Mac's head as he pulls him closer. He could stand like this for an eternity.

Mac releases a shuddering breath, which has Jack pulling back to look at him. "You sure I didn't hurt you?"

"No," Mac laughs.

"Cause the last time I saw ya, you were breathing through a tube and I..." His eyes scanning his partner for any indications of pain or that he's unwell.

"I'm fine, Jack. Really. All healed up."

Jack raises a skeptical eyebrow. Mac doesn't look all healed up. He looks fragile, but Jack will accept his words for now. "How are you here, hoss?"

Mac blushing under the intensity of Jack's appraising gaze, pulls an envelope from his pocket, holding it out to Jack.

With a curious look, Jack takes it from Mac, fingers loosening the seal. He pulls out the paper, staring at it. His gaze flicks from it, to Mac then back to the paper. "A pardon?"

"It turns out, the Vice President doesn't forget the man who took a bullet rescuing his son."

"So this isn't just a visit?"

"Jet's at the airport."

Jack scrubs his eyes. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again. Hell, I didn't even know if you-" his voice breaks, and Mac's arms wrap around him.

"I'm sorry it took me so long."

Jack chokes. "It's not... I didn't... seeing you again is more..." he stutters and stumbles over his words. "I was prepared stay here the rest of my life if it meant you were safe. That's all that mattered."

"It shouldn't have happened." Mac's voice muffled against Jack's shoulder. "Locked up because you sacrificed everything to come after me."

"That's not your fault."

"I didn't know. I woke up and you were gone. I didn't know if it was a hypoxic hallucination. It felt so real, you finding us in the warehouse, with me in the ambulance, I was so sure that you were there. But they told me it was bad. That I almost... didn't make it, and I thought maybe if my brain thought those were my last moments maybe it would dream up you."

The tears that somehow Jack had been holding back leak from his eyes now. The emotions he hasn't let himself feel breaking through the walls he erected to keep himself from going mad with worry.

"Then no one would tell me anything. Wouldn't even confirm that you were there. Wouldn't tell me where you were."

"But Riley, and everyone..."

"They kept us sequestered, even from each other, for security. It was over two weeks after the mission before I saw any of them. They had no reason to think you weren't with me the whole time. By the time we realized, the trail was so complicated it took Riley weeks to untangle. I should have known you wouldn't have left."

"You didn't have a reason to trust that anymore."

"Yeah, I did. You never left me when you could help it."

"Hoss," Jack breathes.

"I know now, leaving for the Kovac mission, you did that for me too."

* * *

Jack sits on the deck, in the pre-dawn light. A cup of coffee in hand. One of many things that changed in the year he was away. He's learned to appreciate a good cup of coffee. There wasn't much else to look forward to.

Some days, when he was far from home and missing his family, he imagined sitting on this deck, enjoying the stillness before the day started. Most days he never believed this would ever happen.

_"There have been a few changes at the Phoenix lately," Mac started slowly once they were airborne. "Oversight thought maybe you'd be interested in a job. Sent me here to extend the offer."_

_Jack frowned. "It's been a long time since I've talked with anyone, hoss. I'm not understanding the joke."_

_"James MacGyver accepted the option of an early retirement rather than an inquest. Director Matilda Webber was promoted. Since she doesn't have a shadowy agenda to manipulate from behind the scenes, she'll continue to manage the day to day operations of the Phoenix. With some help from her second in command."_

_Jack's face softened, he lightly patted Mac's shoulder. "Congratulations, buddy."_

_Mac shook his head, pulling Jack's hand from his shoulder, and folding it back to pat Jack's. "If you want it."_

_"What?"_

_"Your pardon isn't contingent on accepting the offer or anything. You'll have a few weeks to think about it. You should probably take them. It's not strictly a desk job. And the guy they're gonna partner you for field work with has a couple weeks left on medical leave. He can be kind of a know-it-all, and some say he's the slowest ex-EOD tech they've ever met."_

_"Thought you said you were healed up," Jack asked accusingly._

_"That's what you're going to focus on?"_

_"Does this slow ex-EOD know-it-all know that his potential partner is a loudmouth knuckledragger?"_

_"He's already moved the knuckledragger's stuff into his guest bedroom."_

Jack smiles into his coffee. "You're up early. Half thought I'd have to drag you from your bed this morning."

Mac settles into the chair next to Jack, sipping on his own coffee. "I mean, I'm dreading the check up itself, but they might clear me today. I'm ready for this to be over and to get back to normal."

"You be honest with them."

Mac rolls his eyes.

"I'm serious. My schedule is clear this morning. I'm planning on just hanging out in the waiting room, but I'll go back with you if I think you won't tell them about the muscle twinges you're still having."

Mac frowns. "I'd never do anything to jeopardize you in the field."

"I know. I just don't want you to do anything to jeopardize you either."

Mac smiles, a shy, pleased smile. The one that shows he's still uncomfortable with being fussed over but recognizes that it's just a part of his life that he'll have to get use to, and maybe he's coming to enjoy the show of caring affection. It's a look that Jack dreamed of, longed for while he was away. One he wondered if he'd ever see in person again.

And it does his heart good to see it now.


End file.
